Dragon Age: The Blood Within
by jerseydanielgibson
Summary: Lyna Mahariel, the Blightender and the Arlessa of Amaranthine, receives a stranger at Vigil's Keep; a Warden who doesn't know she's a Warden. Just who is this woman, and why did seven Grey Wardens from Minrathous come from the Tevinter Imperium to hunt her down? What secrets does a Magister's Vigilus hold to risk war between the Imperium and Amaranthine? (No Inquisition involved)
1. Chapter 1

BioWare owns this… blah, blah… characters are theirs… blah, blah, legalese… ideas' mine… blah, no profit, snore… rights and property of said game aren't mine… drifting… OC's and plot belong to me… BSOD

Dragon Age: The Blood Within

Chapter 1: The Blightender, Part I

9:38 Dragon, Vigil's Keep, month of Cloudreach 13

The Blightender sat upon her throne, with a massive headache building up in her temples.

Lyna Mahariel of the Dalish _Sabrae_ Clan, Commander of the Grey, and Arlessa of Amaranthine, fought the urge to grab at the bridge of her nose, close her eyes and let off what would undoubtedly be an undiplomatic sigh as she forced herself to look upon her audience, a gathering of Banns, landowners, and businessmen who had attended court at Vigil's Keep. The Warden-Commander held court one day out of every ten, and it was easily the day she regretted and despised the most. Every day that she held court, those of her Arling could beseech for her aid, justice, or attention for the going-ons in her lands. Unfortunately, Lyna had come to find that the _shemlen_ of her Arling seemed unable to solve any problems on their own, and foisted every issue they could come with on _her_.

The Dalish Huntress would rather face the Archdemon Urthemiel again than play this farce any longer.

Lyna looked over to her right, where stood Veral, her stalwart Seneschal; he did well to not appear to be obvious when he rolled his eyes. To her left was Nathaniel Howe, Grey Warden and once an heir to the very Arling that she now ruled. Everything about the Dalish Huntress and the Noble Human should have put them at odds; she had killed his father, after all. Yet Nathaniel had quickly become a trusted friend, and no slouch to Human politics himself. He stood in his place as Warden-Constable; her second-in-command. She made him come to court as well for two reasons; for his knowledge and expertise on the Arling of Amaranthine, and to remind the people that would come to see her that she wasn't just some Elf on the Amaranthine Throne, but to have them see that a Howe was involved as well. The Howe family had ruled Amaranthine for hundreds of years, since the Avvars once ruled the land, and though it had been seven years since she 'inherited' the Arling and Vigil's Keep, she still had to deal with the nobles that once sympathized with the lat Arl Rendon Howe. Or resented seeing a woman on the Throne. Or a Grey Warden. Or, most likely, an Elf.

The headache wasn't going away, nor would it anytime soon.

The person who was calling upon her was none other than Reverend Mother Josephine Gallineaux, the Head of Amaranthine's Chantry. Having come to the post only the year before, the older woman had quickly inserted herself into the affairs of the Banns and business owners, wielding religious obligations and Chantry law like a thug with a cudgel. That the woman was Orlesian to the bone didn't help matters; too many in Ferelden remembered all to well the Occupancy, and having an indignant, outspoken Reverend Mother accosting people out in the streets of Amaranthine under a thick knot of Templar bode ill-will to all. Lyna herself wasn't unscathed from the woman's prudish attention. One of Mother Gallineaux's first acts was to create an outcry about 'heathen leaders' that thought themselves outside Chantry law. Regardless of the fact that Lyna donated a good sum of money every year to the _shemlen_ religion on principle, Mother Gallineaux was quick to cast the first stone on how the Arlessa had never once attended services in the Chantry, nor participated in mass. The Dalish Elf didn't think that the good Reverend Mother had bothered looking into the records to ascertain the fact that when the Darkspawn had ravished Amaranthine six years before, it had be she who had funded the reconstruction of the Chantry, as well as the hiring of masons and construction workers to do just that. No one had ever made an issue of it before; it only took a single glance at her long, pointed ears, or the _vassaslin_ tattooed upon her forehead and cheeks to realize that Lena Mahariel was not, nor ever going to be, a believer in Andraste, or her Heavenly Husband, the Maker. No one had ever said a word when she had planted a _Vhenadahl_ in the courtyard of Vigil's Keep, and she had never suffered one look when she went to its boughs to feel its bark, to listen to the wind tangle through its leaves, or to write upon her journal the lessons she learned at the _Hahren's_ lap, to keep in touch with her origins. It hadn't been an issue, of course, since none dared to cross words or swords with the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, the one who had killed the Archdemon and ended the Fifth Blight in less than a year. It didn't hurt that Velanna would happily burn any mocking _shemlen_ to a crisp if they had dared.

Reverend Mother Josephine Gallineaux dared, evidently.

"So what say you?" The odious woman demanded, having not once called Lyna by either her name or her title. Not that the Warden-Commander liked being called 'Arlessa'; to her, it always sounded as if it had the undertone of 'fraud' in it. Most called her Commander, which the Dalish Huntress was more than fine with. Yet this _shemlen_ woman did neither, and it made the woman responsible for saving Ferelden seethe in anger. Yet she didn't dare raise a hand against Reverend Mother Josephine Gallineaux, no matter how odious the woman was. Any action against her would undoubtedly be seen as a move against the Chantry, and Lyna didn't need to imagine the consequences to follow; she knew them well enough. Tossing her into a jail, using words to harsh, or just speaking her mind would undoubtedly get back to the Bannorn, not to mention the Landsmeet as well. Lyna despised Human politics, yet her life revolved around them. Thus, the headache.

"Reverend Mother," Lyna said evenly, working hard to keep her temper in check as she leaned forward upon her throne, "while your opinion and mine may differ significantly, I will say this only once; fail to address me properly again, and I shall invoke the Writ of Conscription, as by Ferelden law, failure to address any Ferelden nobility is a capital offense and punishable by death. I will then have you guard the basement… where a portion of the Deep Roads lay. You can then offer your opinion to the Darkspawn. I'm sure they would love to have a debate with you." Varel make a choking noise in his throat, and Nathaniel grunted as Lyna's eyes stayed onto the blue-grey eyes of Reverend Mother Josephine Gallineaux, unwavering. The older woman, to her credit, didn't flinch, though even she seemed to sense that she had overstepped her bounds. A member of the Chantry was still subject to Ferelden law, and could be punished for it. Regardless that it almost never happened, the threat still existed, and was still there. The added bonus of the Writ of Conscription wold remove her from the Chantry's Order, as the Chantry had long since defined what it thought of Grey Wardens, excommunicating all members who Joined. If Lyna made good her threat, the Reverend Mother of Amaranthine would find herself without her position or the church's protection. Sure, there would be repercussions against Lyna and Vigil's Keep, but perhaps the Church would take a cue that Warden-Commander Lyna Mahariel would not suffer a fool.

"Warden-Commander." The odious woman finally said, with as much venom as she could muster in a breath, which was a considerable amount. Still, the woman capitulated, and the Dalish Huntress long since resigned herself into appreciating the smaller victories that she begrudgingly earned, as oppose to the big ones that were so rare and far in between. "Do you have an answer?"

"I do, Reverend Mother." Lyna sat back in her throne, letting her temper cool as she looked over to Nathaniel, the Warden-Constable merely giving her a small shrug of her shoulders. "As you wish for me to attend your services in the Chantry of Andraste, I believe it to be a good idea. I would learn much about the people that I protect by learning of their religion. After all, Shartan and the elves of _Arlathan_ did side with Andraste in her quest for freedom against the Tevinter Empire on the promise of the Dales that the Church seems to have lapsed upon in remembering." That statement had another grunt from Varel, who undoubtedly knew exactly what Lyna was referring to; Andraste herself had promised Shartan the Dalish Lands for their help in overthrowing their Tevinter masters… lands that the Orlesians had overthrown in an Exalted March during the Glory Age and now occupied, forcing the Elves to forever wander without a home. "But for one who speaks of religious equality and education, your cause has two edges. I request that a Chantry Sister serve for the Vigil's Keep Chapel, for the men who serve the Chantry but have not the time nor ability to make the journey to Amaranthine to conduct their worships. Your Sister will conduct services not only for the Bride of your Maker, but also for those here whom worship a different religion. As the Dwarves revere the Stone in which they come from, she will act as a Shaperate of Memory, recording their names and deeds, and any other services that they may require. As the Elves revere the Creators in which we come from, she will act as an assistant to the Keeper of Vigil's Keep, copying _elvhen_ lore and tending to the _Vhenadahl_."

"But… that's… _I will do no such thing!_" Spittle flew from the Reverend Mother's mouth as she shouted, her _shemlin_ face turning the color of beets as she stood in a position of anger and fury; her fists clenched, taking a step forward in an aggressive manner. No other step was taken as a deep growl was heard from Lyna's faithful mabari hound, Fen'Harel. Like Varel and Nathaniel, Fen'Harel was a constant companion during court, taking residence at the foot of the throne by Lyna's feet. The Dalish Huntress had rescued the mabari hound during Ostagar, and had been her faithful companion ever since she had picked a couple of flowers from the Kokari Wilds to save him from Blight poisoning. He came with another added benefit; any true Ferelden loved the mabari hound, and the sight of Fen'Harel had always had the Banns a little more lenient towards her, as if being imprinted by a mabari meant that she couldn't be all that bad. Besides, no one in their right mind wanted to tangle with a war hound that weighed half again as much as a _shemlen _man. So when the mabari's head turned toward the Reverend Mother, his hackles raised and teeth bared in preparation for defense of his mistress, the older woman stopped what she was doing immediately, her eyes looking right at the war hound with a good deal more than a little trepidation.

"_Atisha, Fen'Harel!"_ The Warden-Commander ordered the mabari hound, speaking in _elvhish_, ordering him at peace. The mabari complied, ceasing to growl, yet Fen'Harel's eyes stayed on the Reverend Mother, as oppose to its former position of his front paws. Mother Gallineaux didn't miss the sight of that as her face lost its red color, and quickly became a good deal paler.

"Reverend Mother, I am surprised at your response; I would think that the Chantry would be more than happy to serve its brave men and women who defend the Arling and its people. I must admit that I am quite disappointed with your answer. But if that is your wish…" Lyna let her words trail off, and her headache lessened slightly as she watched the older woman who stood in front of her turn purple with rage and indignation at the concession that the Warden-Commander had named. It was a good ploy, one that had come from Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe, one that would give her the upper hand on the Reverend Mother. If the Chantry leader wished to play the religious card, then why couldn't the Arlessa of Amaranthine? Denying a Sister for Vigil's Keep would make the Reverend Mother look not only fearful, but betraying the very charges that she sought to rise up against the Dalish Arlessa. _Two can play at this game, Harrelen._ Lyna thought smugly, thinking the epitaph perfect for her; a trickster. "If you will not provide for us for our secular needs, then who will?"

"Fine!" The Reverend Mother flipped her hand towards the woman on the throne, turning her head in disgust, obviously realizing that Lyna had won that round. "I shall detail a Sister for her detail at Vigil's Keep. If only for the souls of those worth saving. Warden-Commander." Josephine Gallineaux spat out the title as if it were a foul thing, no one able to doubt whom the Reverend Mother thought might be worth saving… and who might not be. "By your leave, _Arlessa_." The Reverend Mother dipped in the faintest of curtsies, something that Lyna never forced anyone to do, and the older woman spun on her heel, walking out of the Vigil's Hall towards the four Templar who seemed to be by the Orlesian woman's side whenever she wasn't in the Chantry proper. Undoubtedly, the fully-armored men were seething as well, being unarmed.

It was a rule that Varel and Nathaniel had pressed Lyna to enforce to avoid assassination attempts. The Dalish Huntress didn't get it; Antivan Crows were notorious for killing anyone, no matter well protected, and she didn't want to seem like a tyrant like Loghain Mac Tir or Rendon Howe. But for the Templars, she did enforce the fact, if only due to the mages that lived in the Keep. Though none were present in the Hall, the Warden-Commander always made sure that her band of mages were kept well away from the possible presence of Chantry goons whenever they were around. Like the mages, the Dalish had no cause to love the Chantry or the Templars, but after becoming a Grey Warden, Lyna Mahariel had learned a good many things about the Chantry that made her truly think that something was deeply wrong with the _shemlen_ running the Church of Andraste. With a nod of Lyna's head, she silently ordered one of her clan to escort the Reverend Mother and her Templars off the Keep's lands. The one she nodded to silently complied, needing no other for assistance. Who was going to try their luck against an eight-foot golem, anyhow? Lyna watched as Shale left the Hall with her charges, and knowing the less-than sparkling personality of the uncontrolled golem, would probably tell them just how squishy a Templar could be in a tin can suit.

"Commander, have you taken a leave of your senses?" Varel was quick to ask as soon as the Hall door closed, the Senshal rounding on the woman on the Throne with an incredulous look upon his face. "Yes, the woman is an ass, and an Orlesian to boot, but _threatening_ her…"

"…Was the right thing to do, _ma falon._" Lyna replied wearily, slumping in the throne, rubbing at the bridge of her nose as if it would help the splitting headache that she had acquired. "She all but incites civil unrest amongst the people of Amaranthine, and rebellion among the Bannorn and business owners against me. If she were the Reverend Mother herself, I would have had her depart this Arling immediately under suspicion of being an Orlesian instigator and spy; truthfully, it might even come to that. The only reason I haven't is that I suspect that is exactly what the Divine wants me to do; I am, after all, an Elf and a Grey Warden sitting upon a throne. She can't do it to Alistair without bringing more problems between Orlais and Ferelden. I, on the other hand, am an Elf, and most of the Bannorn and Arls hate me on principle alone."

"I wouldn't put it past the Orlesians to do something that slippery." Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe imputed wirily, an impish grin upon his face as he took a seat upon a small divan set near the throne of the Arling. "You might have just come up with the Divine's plan on your own in a few words. It isn't a bad plan, and it would require delicacy to root out."

"You mean I shouldn't have threaten her with the Joining?" Lyna commented in an off-hand manner, finished with rubbing her nose when she confirmed that her headache wasn't going to go away anytime soon. Nathaniel chuckled at the comment while Varel merely sighed, no doubt still thinking of the implications of that particular incident. "That woman is putting far too many steps towards 'conspirator' and 'insurrectionist'." The Warden-Commander said wearily, looking back and forth from Nathaniel, to Senchal Varel, then back to Nathaniel. "I needed to remind her that just because she is a Reverend Mother does not give her free reign to plot and ploy under my nose without fear of repercussion. I simply had to find the right kind of barb in which to dangle in front of her nose to show that she is in my territory, not I in hers."

"Well played." Howe replied with a smile.

"I… agree, Commander." Varel said, rolling his head around, his neck giving off a few audible pops. "Diplomacy sometimes calls for the olive branch, and other times the spear. She has shown you her teeth the moment she stepped off that Orlesian boat, and you have done well to tread carefully about the issue, to avoid inflaming the people. The issues she has raised never bothered the populous before. Maker's breath, what Ferelden doesn't know that the Commander of the Grey and Arlessa of Amaranthine isn't a Dalish Elf? No one expects you to set foot into a Chantry. The fact that you fully funded in its reconstruction for the people's benefit just shows the kind of person you are. Andraste Herself would be pleased with the things you've done for Maker and Ferelden, and you've got no reason to do either. Maker preserve me, you've got good reasons _not _to!"

"You don't have to remind me. Velanna does that well enough on her own." Lyna laughed, getting both Seneschal Varel and Nathaniel Howe to chuckle as well, thinking of the antagonistic Dalish Keeper who was the Senior Warden-Enchanter for Ferelden. "Still, it felt good to put that woman in her place. She gets any worse, and I'm afraid to ask if anyone will get rid of this meddlesome priest."

"Not a road you want to walk on." Nathaniel replied softly, making both the Blightender and her Seneschal nod their heads in agreement. "I'll see if I can scare up some of my dregs to keep an eye on the good Reverend Mother. It could very well be that Gallineaux might have more orders from the Divine than just to be the leader of the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer, or even from the Empress herself. Like any red-blooded Ferelden, I am of the strict opinion that the fewer Orlesians, the better. That woman can twist many ears her way, and with the Orlesian Civil War and what happened in Kirkwall…" Howe's voice dropped off completely as his face screwed up in obvious failure s Lyna Mahariel's face darkened. Even Varel looked as if he had eaten something sour. "I am sorry, Commander…"

"It wasn't your fault, Nate." The Warden-Commander of Ferelden sighed, leaning back on her throne, the very sight of defeat. It was an spoken rule around Vigil's Keep not to mention Ander's name around the Commander of the Grey, especially after the events of Kirkwall the year before. Lyna had already sent letters to all the various Warden-Commanders in Thedas expressing that no Grey Warden should offer any aid, labeling him a deserter. After what happened to the Chantry of Kirkwall… "If you gentlemen would excuse me, I would like some solidarity to reflect upon the day's events. Seneschal, you know where to find me if there is any need…"

"Myself or Warden-Constable Howe will be more than capable of handling things." Varel assured the Dalish Elf, who merely nodded in response. "Tend to your tree and your Gods in peace, Commander. Maker knows we could use as much peace as we can get, these days."

A/N: Just a Warm-up. No plot explained.


	2. Chapter 2

BioWare owns this… blah, blah… characters are theirs… blah, blah, legalese… ideas' mine… blah, no profit, snore… rights and property of said game aren't mine… drifting… OC's and plot belong to me… BSOD

Dragon Age: The Blood Within

Chapter 2: The Constable, Part I

9:38 Dragon, Vigil's Keep, month of Cloudreach 13, later that day

Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe stalked his ancestral home with the stride of a man who was both purposeful and efficient. Most who knew the eldest son of Arl Rendon Howe thought Nathaniel to be quiet, brooding, and perhaps a bit too severe to anyone's liking. Yet to anyone who took the time to know the man found him to be a man of worth and honor, to make his few words count, and to reflect upon actions and consequences before acting decisively. The court had been a bothersome thing, and each one seemed to be worse than the last, in Nate's mind. That farmers, merchants, and the common folk would come to the Warden-Commander and the Arlessa for whatever decisions she would meek out was a give-in for any court; he could remember well sitting in his father's court appearances for the very same reason, Arl Renden Howe dispensing judgment and punishment as he saw fit in much the same manner. The Warden-Constable had learned much from his father; the ability to rule, and the education required for it. Nathaniel had been squired out to the Vaels' of Starkhaven in the Free Marshes to further his education when he learned of his fathers' death, at the hands of a Dalish Grey Warden at that. It had been one of the few times he had ever acted out of instinct instead of thought, and that line of action had made him a Grey Warden.

It had been a long time since he had regretted that rash action so long ago. Though there were days…

Nathaniel Howe went through the hall of Vigil's Keep that would lead to the Training Yard, where he could here the clash of blades and shields before he opened the reinforced oak door. Stepping outside into the Yard, the Warden-Constable found himself basking in the bright, yet still-chilly day, the bite of frost still in the mid-Cloudreach air. The Yard was populated by a good deal of people, perhaps twenty-five, each training in various forms and styles of combat. A good number of them were guardsmen, hirelings and prospects for the Guard in either Amaranthine, Vigil's Keep, or the various Arling outposts that guarded the roads. A few were potential recruits for the Grey; volunteers who were willing to join the Wardens, either by free will or to escape whatever fate had in store for them. Nate could see six new recruits as they faced off against their training instructor; one of Orzammar's best.

Oghren Kondrat.

"Get yer nug-humpin' arses into gear, duster fodder!" The four foot, nine inch tall ginger-haired dwarf boomed out in a powerful voice, his eyes never still as he watched the six new recruits snap into formation; a basic line of sword and shield. "Lock in those shields like it's yer sweetheart, ladies!" If there was ever a terror-inspiring voice to command men into battle, Nathaniel Howe would have picked the throaty growl of Warden-Captain of the Guard Oghren Kondrat. While his manners and hygiene were in extreme suspect, the Dwarven Warrior Caste Warden was an absolute juggernaut on the battlefield, waving about a battleaxe like a normal man would an ale. Said to have been one of the best Warriors that Orzammar had seen in an Age, Oghren's life fell into complete chaos when his Paragon wife Branka up and took her whole House into the Deep Roads to look for something known as the Anvil of the Void… without him. Not that Nate blamed her, but Oghren was born for killing things, and he loved what he did. Training guardsmen and Warden Initiates the Dwarf did in his spare time, but there was only three things that the ginger-haired Dwarf loved; drinking, rutting, and driving his axe into somethings' skull.

"You! You slack-jawed idiot!" The Dwarf singled out one of the Initiates in the line, and the Warden-Constable could instantly see what had garnered the Warrior's personal attention; sloppy fighting stance, shield not being locked in, and sword resting on top of the shield as oppose to its proper place closer in between the top and the side. "Who taught you how to fight? Some tree-huggin' elf? You expect to receive a Darkspawn charge with yer feet side-by-side as oppose to havin' yer sword-side foot back?" To emphasize his point, Oghren lashed out with a fist, punching the Initiates' shield square in the middle. While the Initiate might have been a foot taller than the Dwarf, Oghren had him in terms of weight, mass, and sheer force. The punch had the Initiate on his back, a clatter of metal as he dropped his sword and shield while he hit the pavestone ground, the splint mail he wore only adding to the cacophony. "Now yer on yer arse like some whelpin' whore on her back for the first time, cryin' to yer Mama! Thanks to you, some Hurlock is goin' home with a full belly, and yer buddy's flank is now unprotected! Now get back on yer feet, brush off the tears, and lock into the line."

Nate had to smile; nothing said tough love like Oghren's breath.

"Well, well, well, look who showed up!" The ginger-haired Dwarf turned to see Nathaniel Howe watching the Initiates as the offending member picked himself off the ground, recovering his sword and shield before joining the line, locking in and standing in a more proper battle stance. "You whelps happen to be standin' in the presence of the Warden-Constable himself! You impress me enough, I might give you the honor of shinin' his boots. Otherwise, you girls get to clean out the slit trenches. Heh heh heh…" Oghren chuckled at his own joke, and Nathaniel was surprised to see that the line did improve marginally; wonders never ceased. "Heard the old biddy had it out with good ole' Lady Dalish. Who won?"

"I'm surprised you missed the sight of a Reverend Mother running off with her tail tucked in between her legs." The Warden-Constable informed the Dwarf, the Warrior Caste guffawing at the description. "She was all venom and piss until the words 'Rite of Conscription' came out, and knocked the shrewd down a few rungs."

"Ha! That's my girl!" Oghren slapped his armored thigh with his gauntleted hand, making a loud metal-on-metal noise. "Who'd be bronto-brained enough to get into a pissin' contest with someone who made her reputation killin' dragons and demons? Old biddy might want to visit a Shaperate for a good history lesson or three."

"People like her never learn, my Dwarven friend." Nate replied with a sigh. "She's too blinded with her own importance and assurance that she would never stop to consider that someone else might just have the right of it. It is people like her and my father that make a dash of all those who actually try." That got the ginger-haired Dwarf to chuckle as he looked up to the Warden-Constable. "How are our Initiates?"

"What? These?" Oghren jerked her thumb behind him, indicating the six Initiates behind him, still in a line, and it seemed to Nathaniel that they were starting to get tired from standing in formation. "They'd be good for nug-rustlin', but not much else. I can already hear 'em quakin' in their little booties. Poor dears must be gettin' tired. Archers!" The Dwarf shouted, getting the attention of the four guardsmen archers, who were practicing with hay-filled targets. "Ready to loose volley at the Initiates!"

Nathaniel Howe watched as the four guards looked at each other in surprise, and the Initiates at each other in shock. The Warden-Constable did nothing as Oghren bellowed the order to fire, and the four archers did as they were commanded, firing their arrows at the line of Grey Warden Initiates. The steel bucklers that they wore on their left arms, locked side-by-side with those who stood beside them, deflected the projectiles off their surface with an audible 'tinging' noise. The recruits, to their credit, kept their shield bucklers up, their helmed heads slowly peering over the rims of their steel bucklers.

"Finally! Yer did somethin' right together." Oghren muttered, shaking his head, making his braided beard swing back and forth. "Now hold that position for an hour. Archers, you see any man that slacks, you put an arrow into him and call for a healer." Both Warden-Captain and Warden-Constable turned away from the recruits, who were visibly shaking as they stood in line with their shields up and their swords at the ready. Nathaniel didn't say a word at Oghren's teaching tactics; the Constable knew for a fact that the Warrior Caste were much harder, and Oghren had proven a very effective teacher. He had been doing it for five years, and there wasn't a man in the Vigil that dared cross Oghren Kondrat. The Dwarf said 'boo', and someone in the Keep would undoubtedly jump into a ready position. Oghren had one philosophy; to be worse than the Darkspawn, for him to terrify the men more than the Darkspawn did. Nate originally had his reservations, but he had seen how well the new Wardens fought together. Plus, the Dwarf did well to weed out the glory-seekers, the cowards, and those who thought of bailing out on their duties as Wardens; that last point was particularly important to Lyna. "If yer lookin' fer the Boss, she's up in the tree, probably countin' apples or leaves or… whatever it is that elves do."

"I figured as much. The _Vhenadahl_ always did bring her some respite, and it seems that she needs it more and more after court." Nate replied truthfully.

"Rot-soul _dreshyrs_ and good-for-nothin' pansy-waist boot-lickers, the whole lot of them." Oghren labeled that majority of the Bann and audience-seekers that appeared in court again and again, with very little in the change of faces. The Warden-Constable had remembered the previous court when a lowly farmer had come into court to see the Warden-Commander, and much to Howe's pleasant surprise, Lyna spied out the man from her throne and addressed him first. It was strange, serving an Elvish Arlessa on a throne that was meant for him, yet Nathaniel Howe honestly believed that Lyna Mahariel was a better ruler than he ever would have been. Would his father had put a common man first, especially when he had been bringing a sheep into the Vigil's Hall, tethered with a rope? It had taken all of Nate's skill not to laugh out loud at the sight of the Banns and knights looking at the farmer with anger as Lyna put the farmers' needs before their own. In the end, all the man wanted to do was to have the right to sell his produce and livestock off the Pilgrim's Path in which his farm bordered, as oppose to having to hire a merchant to carry his goods or load a wagon to take the hours-long trip there. Half of the people in the court that day were a part of one of the several Guilds that operated in Amaranthine, and a good portion of the others invested in businesses in the city.

Lyna had come up with a fair compromise; she didn't want the farmer left unguarded for bandits and smugglers to accost the man, and offered to build him a stall right outside the Keep for the people who lived or visited the Vigil. The farmer had been quite excited by the prospect, and the Merchant's Guild had undoubtedly had a heart attack at the thought, as the Keep was the host to at least a hundred visitors a month, and sometimes more with visiting dignitaries. That decision had some repercussions to it, but it had been a good one in the end, as the farmer had one of his sons selling apples and chickens right outside the main gate where a small yet growing community was beginning to establish itself right at the Keep's doorstep. "Boss has been one of the very few _dreshyrs_ I've ever known not to be a fool. If Lady Dalish is any indication at what elves can do, I can see why Humans don't like 'em."

"The Commander is different, but you do have a point; Orlais did call upon an Exalted March against the Dales because they were losing to the Elves." Nathaniel pointed out, knowing the history of the Second Exalted March. The Orlesians claimed that the Elves had been doing border runs and attacking Imperial towns and troops, but as a Ferelden, he didn't need to be reminded of when Orlais had occupied his Kingdom for almost one hundred years. He didn't put it past either the Empress or the Divine to be working together in their Great Game, furthering either the Orlesian Empire or the Chantry by being in cahoots. Nate remembered Lyna asking him a few years back why the Chantry was based in Val Royeaux, as oppose to the birthplace of Andraste, which was supposedly in Denerium, where the Birth Rock was located. Of course, Orlesians claim that she was born in Jader. But every Ferelden knew that Jader was their city, taken by the Orlesians during the Occupancy, and never returned, so either claim would still have the Bride of the Maker as a Ferelden. Perhaps having a Dalish Elf asking such a question opened Nate's eyes just a little bit more to the Church of the Divine, and how the Chantry operated. The Warden-Commander had always valued him for his way of thinking and his education, thus his position as the Warden-Constable; second-in-command of the Grey, and the unofficial spymaster for the Arlessa of Amaranthine.

Unfortunately, something had come up pertaining to his second set of duties.

Bidding Oghren a farewell so he could go back to demeaning the new batch of Grey Warden recruits, Nathaniel Howe left the Training Yard and entered into the main Courtyard of Vigil's Keep, simply known as the Grotto. The main attraction of the Grotto, of course, was what those who lived in the Keep called the Great Tree; Lyna Mahariel's _Vhenadahl_. A gift from a _Hahren _of one of the roaming Dalish Clans, they had carried it in a specially made Elvish _aravel_, having carefully digging it up from the ground, roots and all, and temporarily planting it in the _aravel_ for transportation. Lyna, surprised by the gift, had been deeply moved by the gift as Dalish Clansmen dug the pit for the tree and planted it, dedicating it for the brave men and women who had fought and defeated the Fifth Blight. Nate didn't know much of the Elvish religion, but it was common to see the Blightender tending to the tree, often high in its boughs.

And it was up in its branches, at least fifty feet in the air, that Nathaniel Howe found Lyna Mahariel.

It took a moment for him to spy her, dressed in Dalish leathers dyed in a green and brown molted pattern for her better to blend into a forested setting, perched upon a branch. It seemed that the Warden-Commander was tending to, of all things, a bird's nest, feeding the chicks inside as the mother sat upon a nearby branch, watching on curiously. Nate didn't usually interrupt Lyna when she wore her old Dalish huntress uniform, as he knew that she was practicing the precepts of the Dalish religion. It seemed odd to see the Blightender and the Dragonslayer to be pruning branches, checking leaves, and feeding animals. Yet he knew it brought her peace and serenity, much in the same way that the devote of Andraste felt when attending the Chantry. Lyna must have noticed the Warden-Constable standing at the base of the tree, for she acrobatically left its boughs, dropping to one brach and swinging by her hands until she was at its trunk, and shimmying downward. She landed on the ground deftly, almost with cat-like grace beside the Warden-Constable.

"Duty calls? Or is it… something else?" The Dalish woman asked, her green eyes upon him with playful mirth.

"Something else. I'll explain as we walk to the infirmary. No worries, it isn't anybody we know." Nathaniel replied when the Warden-Commander raised a tattooed brow to her second-in-command. Together the Warden-Constable and the Commander of the Grey moved from the Grotto towards the Main Keep. Lyna took to pulling her shoulder-length red hair behind her head and tying it off in a small ponytail with a piece of leather rope as she followed Nathaniel as they went through the main entrance of the Keep leading to the Vigil's Hall. Nathaniel led Lyna through a door and into a hallway that led to the Vigil's infirmary.

"Our guardsmen encountered a woman at the gates, more dead than alive with several arrows in her, as well as poorly-healed blade wounds." The Warden-Constable began explaining. "She hasn't spoken a word, as she fell into unconsciousness when she reached them. We had her moved to the infirmary where Bethany is tending to her now." Nathaniel paused as he reached the infirmary door, his hand on the handle as he half-turned to look at the Dalish Elf who trailed him. "Lyna… I must warn you that the woman was wearing arms and armor that is most commonly found in the Tevinter Empire, bearing the proper siguls and heraldry upon the breast, shield, and scabbard. If she is, in fact, a Tevinter warrior, then she either lost her band and her horse in an attack… or she may be an escaped slave."

"Interesting." The Blightender held her opinion on that regard; Lyna's thoughts on the Tevinter Empire was well-known to any that knew her.

"Also, when I asked Bethany Hawke to tend to the woman, she told me…" Nathaniel paused, unsure how to proceed as Lyna looked at him. "Well…

"Bethany thinks she's a Grey Warden."

A/N: Some of the Grey Warden rankings are mine, as are the names of certain parts of the Vigil. And realistically, it would be impossible for medieval people to move a large oak tree, much less it surviving.


	3. Chapter 3

BioWare owns this… blah, blah… characters are theirs… blah, blah, legalese… ideas' mine… blah, no profit, snore… rights and property of said game aren't mine… drifting… OC's and plot belong to me… BSOD

Dragon Age: The Blood Within

Chapter 3: The Hawke, Part I

9:38 Dragon, Vigil's Keep, month of Cloudreach 13, early evening

Senior-Magician Bethany Hawke sat by the bedside of the unknown woman that was her patient, relaxing in the simple arm chair that she sat in after tending to the woman's wounds. Bethany was exhausted after channeling her magic to help heal the wounds on the unknown woman, spending almost two hours applying healing spells and poultices on the woman's many wounds, making a small list on a spare sheaf of paper written with a quill. The list detailed the woman's injuries, and what Bethany did for each application, be it magical or physical. Having finished the list, the Warden-Enchanter read over her work, amazed by the description of wounds that the unknown woman had received. She had listed not only the fresher wounds, but the sight of older wounds and scars as well, having found older injuries that didn't seem to have fully healed, or had healed incorrectly.

Something didn't add up, in Bethany's mind.

The sound of the infirmary door opening had the once-upon-a-time apostate mage turn to see who had entered the mostly-empty infirmary. Bethany's eyes widened slightly for a quick moment at the sight of Warden-Commander Lyna Mahariel and Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe entering the infirmary, the Warden-Constable dressed in his customary studded leather armor, and the Warden-Commander, strangely enough, in her Dalish leathers. Bethany quickly stood from her armchair and put her fist to her heart and nodded her head; the customary honorific towards other Grey Wardens. Nathaniel nodded his head in return, while Lyna gave the apostate a kind smile, her Dalish eyes flickering over to her patient.

"Commander. Constable." Bethany Hawke greeted each, returning to her chair, feeling light-headed from exhaustion. Lyna pulled up an extra chair to sit in front of the Warden mage while nathaniel stood to one side, crossing his arms across his chest. "I take it you're here for an update on my patient?"

"By all means, Bethany." Lyna smiled, motioning with a hand for the apostate to continue. "Tell me everything from the beginning."

"Yes, Commander." Bethany nodded in return, taking up her list. "The guards at the front gate had given me an inventory list of the woman's belongings, which is in a chest for safe keeping in the dungeons. Steel splint mail armor breastplate and paldrons, with matching gauntlets and greaves, and a leather sargon skirt with embolished belt with buckle and… codpiece?" That had the mage pausing for a moment, thinking it strange that a woman would have such a piece of equipment. "Fairly standard steel buckler and longsword, and a steel dagger, with tooled leather sheaths for both sword and dagger. No helm. Breastplate, buckler and sword scabbard all identified with matching marks of the heraldry of the Tevinter Empire, and one of the guardsmen recognized the makers' mark on the sword itself, suggesting that it identifies with a Magister's Guard."

"Would you say that the woman possessed this armor, purchased it, or took it off of someone?" The Warden-Commander asked.

"The guards indicated that the armor was a good fit, so it probably wasn't taken; how likely is one to find someone of all the same sizes and proportions in another person?" Bethany mused, looking over to her charge, who still laid in the bed unconscious, modestly covered by a bed sheet. "As for the woman herself, she has the look of someone trained in the arts of war; toned and athletic, and she has a fair amount of old scars that seemed to be from various cuts from blades. A Guard is likely, as the armor isn't heavy enough for a real melee battle for an army. She could be a scout, but I think the guess of her being a Magister's Guard, or a Guard of some sort, seems the most likely of explanations for her."

"And there were no keepsakes or any other indications of who she might be?" Lyna looked to the unconscious woman for a moment before looking back at the apostate mage.

"Just one, but neither a keepsake or jewelry." Bethany moved a portion of the blankets away from the woman's right arm, where a few wrappings of bandages were seen around the woman's hand and forearm. The spot that the mage had identified, however, was on her upper bicep, just shy of her shoulder. There, in raised relief, was a branding of a symbol on her flesh, stark and easy to see. "It's a Tevinter rune, Commander. And I recognize it; 'Silverite'."

"Does it mean anything other than the obvious?" Nathaniel Howe asked, his tone curious.

"Possibly." The Senior-Magician replied honestly. "I hazard to guess that the rune is indeed a marking, as I do know that many of the Tevinters do brand their slaves with personal ownership markings. Yet this particular marking seems… different. It's like a slaves' brand, but I don't think this is what it means. I think it's more of a… form of identification."

"The Free Marchers of Starkhaven's Army are branded when they are conscripted." The Warden-Constable spoke out loud, voicing his thoughts. "Do you think it something along the lines of that?"

"While I do not know for sure, I think it likely." Bethany nodded, slipping the blanket back to cover the woman up completely save her head. "As for her injuries, it is a miracle that she is still alive. She had several arrows in her, the shafts snapped off, and a good number of blade wounds, both slices and stabs. She suffered no less than thirteen broken bones as well, most of them being her ribs, but also her shin and her forearm. And those were the fresh ones; the ones that happened within the last day or two."

"The… not-fresh ones?" The Dalish Huntress asked, her curiosity piqued.

"This woman has suffered extensive fighting without any real care, neither medicinal nor magical, Commander." The mage explained. "She's had scarring that is quite fresh, to wounds that are only partially healed. Based upon my calculations, figuring that she was a traveller, I can assume that she has had some sort of terrible scenario inflicted upon her with in the past few months; no more than three, by my estimate." Once again, Bethany modestly pulled the blankets back to reveal the woman's right arm and shoulder. "You can tell the older ones by their color; the closer to skin tone they are, the longer ago she suffered the injury. We have some smaller cuts and abrasions that are well over a year old, but many of these have occurred since before Wintersend. If I had to hazard a guess, I would base the timeline as to the start of when she received this branding; it, too, is not that old. Perhaps around First Day."

"Yet you think she is a Grey Warden?" Lyna Mahariel pointed out, gesturing to the unconscious woman.

"I have my suspicions, and some evidence to back it up." Bethany explained. The Warden-Commander gestured the apostate mage to continue. "As well all know, we can 'feel' our brothers and sisters of the Grey, but certain conditions will make it more difficult; such as sleep or unconsciousness. Also, with so many Grey Wardens here in the Keep, we can't feel an individual as we would, say, out in the field somewhere with only a few of our comrades. That she has lost consciousness, and in such close proximity to so many Wardens, the only way we'll know for certain is if she wakes up and tells us, or if we cart her out to some random field with a Warden to stand as close to her as possible and concentrate."

"Which I'm not approving that at all." Lyna interrupted, Bethany nodding her head in agreement.

"This woman is a fine example of hardiness," Bethany ticked off her first point with a finger, "a trait that Wardens possess, being able to continue on long after all others would have dropped from exhaustion. Secondly, a person with this many wounds would have died long ago; Wardens, again, can survive what most would fall to. Next, all my evidence about the timing of her wounds healing are based upon what I would see for a Grey Warden, not a regular person; Wardens heal faster. Last, I performed a test of her blood," Lyna was opening her mouth to say something, but Bethany held up her hands in a stopping motion, "not magical, but something I've noticed healing people and Wardens. If you take a drop of blood from a normal man and put it in a bowl of water, it will cloud the water and diffuse evenly. If you did the same thing with a Wardens' blood, it will not cloud the water, but instead vein out unevenly, almost like briars, not mixing with the water. While I don't know why this happens, I've found that it is an easy test for Warden blood, or those who might be suspected to be early in the stages of the Taint."

"So you took a few drops of her blood and put it in a bowl of water." Nathaniel reasoned out loud, looking to the woman. "And it didn't disperse like it should for a non-Warden."

"Correct, Warden-Constable. This woman is, indeed, a Grey Warden. I think well short of her first year, which I'm basing that guess by her wounds." The mage looked over to the woman's sleeping form, raising a hand to touch her forehead, Bethany's hand glowing softly blue as she touched her magic. "She will recover, probably within the next week or so, and I suspect that she will awaken before too long. But I must caution you of that moment, Commander, for we don't know what state of mind she will be in when she regains consciousness. I suspect she will be confused and violent, as I believe she has been on the run for some time."

"Running?"

"She's practically starving to death." Bethany replied to the Warden-Commander's question. "She's not much more than skin and bones; poor dear. Either she didn't have the time to eat as much as a Warden needs to fuel our particular… 'enhancements', or…"

"Or…?" The Dalish woman asked.

"Or she doesn't really know." Bethany looked into the Warden-Commander's green Elvish eyes, imagining the horrors and terror this woman must have felt. "That brand? Her armor? The violence that was visited upon her? This can only add up to a few things, and none of them good."

"Desertion." Nathaniel supplied at once. "From what I recall during my squiring in the Free Marches, 'Silverite' was the rune for silence and betrayal."

"I thought that, too, but why brand her for desertion? Why not just… well, kill her?" Bethany reasoned, and she saw Nathaniel Howe's face grudgingly accept her point. "Slavery, I believe, is also out of the question. The callouses on her hands, the musculature of her body, the fit of her armor? They all say that she was a free woman that something happened to cause her to run. It could be that she committed a crime in which the Order of the Grey wasn't willing to protect her, but I would think that the Warden-Commander of Minrathrous would have sent a letter if he suspected her coming this way."

"With the Tevinters, who knows?" Lyna groused, holding no love for the northern Empire.

"There is a thought I had, and it means that she is in serious, serious danger." The mage looked from Lyna, to Howe, then back to the Commander again. "Why would a Imperial run all the way to Ferelden? To here? She is trying to escape something, and I have a feeling that she was being followed all the way from the Empire to wherever she was attacked. All these wounds suggest that they were constantly on her trail, and that they caught up to her on several occasions; four, at the very least. She didn't run to a city to confuse a tracker, and she didn't take a ship to disappear anywhere in Thedas. Her travels were on land, and they were able to follow her all the way from the Tevinter Empire to… well, perhaps an hour or so from Vigil's Keep itself. I only know of one group of people who can do that.

"Templars. Templars with phylacteries."

"Not… necessarily." Lyna sighed, and Bethany watched as the Warden-Commander rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Back during the Blight, we encountered a Tevinter outpost in the city of Denerim itself. Mages and guard were protecting a storehouse where they were collecting blood samples from the nobility of Ferelden. With a little bit of blood, you can use it as such as the Templars do to track a mage by the means of a phylactery. Collect enough… and a blood mage can influence a person." That had Bethany's eyes going wide at the implications. "You can't imagine how shocking a revelation that was when we broke in and started breaking vials. That is why I have every Warden mage memorize the Litany of Andralla in case of blood magic coercion. Tevinters could have branded her and made her phylactery at the same time. To what purpose?" The Warden-Commander merely shrugged her shoulders. "Why they would do such a thing to a Grey Warden is beyond me, but the implications are unsettling, at the very least."

"Commander, if I am correct…" Bethany spared a glance towards the woman, "if I am correct, then this woman is in danger, and the men who tried killing her are practically at our doorstep. This act seems too bold for Antivan Crows, as a failure of a contract generally means that they would kill the assassin as oppose to making another attempt upon the target. If this woman is Tevinter, then her hunters will be, too. I fear that we may be getting a visit from them very soon. And if they are Tevinter…"

"Then one will undoubtedly be a Magister, at the very least." Lyna finished, Bethany nodding her head in agreement. "_Fen'Harel_ take the Tevinters and their slaving, blood-magery ways to _Falon'Din's_ heel." The Dalish woman's oaths had the Senior-Magician raise an eyebrow at the use of the Elvish language, some that she knew from her friend, Merrill. "Nathaniel? Have Oghren, Velanna, Shale, and Kallian meet me in the Hall. We'll need to come up with some tactics in case we might be facing a _Harel'lin_." Bethany's mouth twisted into a half smile at the Dalish words for a blood mage; trick of the blood. "Oghren will be harder to control, and Shale is immune to blood magic. I'll have Fen'Harel with me as well, as blood magic doesn't seem to work on mabari."

"Shale for the blood mage, Oghren and Kallian for the warriors, Velanna for the Litany, the mabari for anyone clever, and myself and you for any archers or anything else that might come up." Nathaniel agreed, formulating a plan for the battle that might be, showing why he was second-in-command. "I suggest that we keep our guards away from the Hall, and have some of our Squires and Sergeants of the Grey replace them. The Taint works in our favor against blood magic, but it's a thin shield at best. But better a Warden that might stand a chance, as oppose to our guardsmen who have no protection at all."

"Agreed." The Blightender replied with a curt nod of her head. "Bethany? Your place is here, with our patient. If all else fails, you will defend her here. We don't know enough to be letting our only source of answers to be murdered underneath our noses. I'll have Mistress Woolsey bring up some food for yourself and our… guest. Feed her as you can, and calm her if she awakens. I'll visit tomorrow for any progress, but for the time being, her well-being is your mission."

"I understand, Commander." Bethany rose from her chair, nodding to the Dalish woman as Lyna Mahariel stood from the chair, returning it to its original location. "_Dareth, ma falon._" The mage said before the Commander left, asking her friend to be safe in Dalish.

"_Mas serannas, falon. Dareth shiral, lethallan."_ Lyna replied with a warm smile, bidding her thanks and a farewell as both Commander and Constable left the infirmary. Bethany Hawk turned her head back to her charge, the woman's breaths soft and even.

"Where have you been? What have you seen?" Bethany asked the unconscious woman with a whisper, not expecting any type of answer from the out-cold woman. "What made you run so fast and far, to not give yourself rest?"

A/N: The Silverite Rune is indeed the symbol of Dumat, silence, and betrayal. And it is 'slightly' canon that blood magic does not work as well for mind control for Wardens as oppose to others; I just expanded on that. And the testing of Warden blood is made up, but you would think that with the Taint, it would react differently.


	4. Chapter 4

BioWare owns this… blah, blah… characters are theirs… blah, blah, legalese… ideas' mine… blah, no profit, snore… rights and property of said game aren't mine… drifting… OC's and plot belong to me… BSOD

Dragon Age: The Blood Within

Chapter 4: The Blightender, Part II

9:38 Dragon, Vigil's Keep, month of Cloudreach 14, morning

"Well, what do you know? We've got guests!" Warden-Captain of the Hunt Kallian Tabris announced playfully as she read a message passed onto her by one of her Pages, reading the scrawl written on a small slip of paper as the City Elf turned to Lyna, giving the Dalish Elf a wicked smile before reading the rest of the contents of the message. "My boys say that there are seven men approaching the Vigil, armed and armored, riding horses of all things and…

"And wearing the standard of the Order of the Grey!" Kallian announced after her pause, surprise evident in her voice as Warden-Commander Lyna Mahariel looked to Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe with a raised eyebrow. The archer sighed as he reached into a pocket upon his belt, and flipped a gold sovereign towards the Dalish, who snagged it out of the air with a chuckle.

"Told you, Nate." The Warden-Commander said with a smile, pocketing the gold sovereign in her belt, which was a matching ensemble for the armor that she wore. It was none other than the armor that Master Armorer Wade had made for her during the Blight, made of the hide of a high dragon, and nigh impenetrable by blade or arrow. Its red embossed color and dragon-scaled look left a lasting impression on all of those who saw Lyna Mahariel armored in such a way, a subtle reminder that this was the very armor she wore to kill Urthemial, the God of Beauty-turned-Archdemon. On her back were no less than two full-sized swords, the Keening Blade and Starfang, the very same she used to slay the Archdemon when she jumped on its back and stabbed it in the back of its head, thus ending the Fifth Blight.

"That ought to teach me to bet against a Dalish." Nathaniel shook his head, dramatically sighing in perceived sufferance, making both Kallian Tabris and Warden-Captain Oghren of House Kondrat chuckle together. "The heraldry may be false to lure us into compliancy. We treat this like any other threat, regardless if they are indeed our brothers and sisters or not."

"Agreed." The Warden-Commander looked over to the positions of her Wardens, the ones who had served beside her faithfully for years. Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe stood by her side, wearing his customary studded leather armor, while Fen'Harel took residence by her feet, sitting up to his full height. First-Magician Velanna stood to Lyna's opposite side, dressed in the traditional garb of a Keeper, made from the hides and furs of animals, and adorn with claws, feathers, and teeth in ornamental locations. Warden-Captain of the Guard Oghren of House Kondrat stood by his customary spot; the huge cask of ale that the Commander saw to was always in stock with spirits. Though Oghren had given up drinking to excess long ago, it was of no surprise to anyone that the ginger-haired Dwarf would have a flagon in hand whenever he wasn't on duty or training guards and Initiates. Lyna knew that the flagon contained water, as Oghren never fought drunk anymore. Armored in his massive set of Dwarven armor, polished to a mirror sheen, his only weapon was strapped to his back, a battleaxe as big as he was. He called it the Darkspawn Ravager, and only the Creators and the Stone knew how many Tainted creatures it had brought down. Alongside Oghren was Warden-Captain of the Hunt Kallian Tabris, dressed in a chainmail top, with leather bracers and greaves, with her favored daggers sticking from their sheaths in her belt, and an assortment of throwing knives in a bandoleer criss-crossing her chest, as well as several smaller knives sticking out of various locations; the tops of her boots, sticking out of her bracers, one behind each shoulder, and a couple at the small of her back. Shale, the living golem, stood near the entrance of the Hall, having been told to impersonate a statue, to have their visitors think the once-former Dwarf some sort of relic.

The doors to the Main Hall opened, and seven men entered the Hall of Vigil's Keep somberly, none of their faces giving any indication what they were thinking, save that their gazes were grim. Lyna noted that six of them were armed and armored as warriors, wearing full steel plate armor, as well as carrying shields and swords. The seventh man wasn't armored at all; instead, he wore a red robe, a Magister's Robe, and carried a staff. They entered the Hall with their eyes forward, seemingly without looking at either Oghren or Kallian to the side of the Hall, their attention focused upon Lyna, Nathaniel, and Velanna. The Warden-Commander looked in each of the seven men's faces, and she had a cold feeling in her gut; it almost felt like fear. She had faced more numerous, more powerful, bigger, larger, taller, and more deadly, yet there was something about these seven men that had her hair standing on end. The Blightender did her best not to look at Velanna to make sure that the Keeper of Vigil's Peak was reciting the Litany of Andralla, to avoid making the Dalish mage more of a target. She couldn't say for certain if blood magic was being performed, or if the man in the Magister's robes was trying to influence her; she had felt both in the past. There was something about them, something that should make the brave wary.

Lyna had always listened to her instincts.

"_Andaran atish'an__,_ travelers." Lyna began, taking a step forward, giving her head the slightest of nods in their direction; a customary greeting towards unknown strangers, polite without being servantile. "Welcome to Vigil's Keep. I bid you a good morn on this…"

"Enough with the drivel. Where's the girl?" One of the warriors spoke, his accent thick, a _shemlen_ man of impressive size, one who could have almost matched Sten in size and girth. Though his armor seemed the same as the other warriors, his face was easily the most distinguished among them. A rather ugly scar ran down the left side of his face, starting above the hairline and drawing down to his jaw, bisecting his brow, eye, cheek and jaw. The left eye was clouded and grey; undoubtedly blind. The rest of his face was almost as unpleasant without the addition of scarring. Cruel and remorseless, and utterly devoid of pity, the man stood as the vanguard of the group. Lyna didn't doubt that this man was indeed a fighting man, and though he had a face that could scare a bandit to fits, she didn't doubt him.

The Warden-Commander, at that moment, didn't doubt that the men she was looking at were indeed Grey Wardens.

"No."

"Excuse me?" The man's scarred visage was taken aback by the Dalish's response. It wasn't exactly the answer that fit the question.

"Normally, whenever some jumped-up thug tries to play with scare tactics, we usually banter with questions and insults going back and forth until we finally get to what we want. But I decided to skip the formalities and just give you my actual response. Which is no. I'm not handing her over to you just because."

"Listen, wench!" The man's face went purple with anger, pointing an angry finger at Lyna. "You mind your betters before I crush your little _pars-hominis_ skull under my boot."

"Open hostility is so refreshing. Reminds me of the last Landsmeet I attended." The Commander of the Grey told the Warden-Constable over her shoulder with some humor in her voice, making Nathaniel Howe grunt noncommittally. "Usually I let my temper get the better of me, and at that point in time, someone's head hits the floor while their body is still standing. But I'm in a chipper mood today, gentlemen. Say 'pretty please' to me, and I'll be sure that you'll leave through the main gate of the Vigil with your guts still inside of your stomachs."

"Wait, Gregior." Another one of the warrior men said, this one more plain-looking, with stubble for hair as oppose to the scarred-mans' complete baldness. The one who talked looked closer at Lyna, studying her for a moment. "I'm afraid I will have to apologize for my man, here. Warden-_Centurion_ Gergior is more useful for his skills with a sword than for his diplomacy talents. I am Warden-Lieutenant Mathius Cicero, of the Tevinter Chapter of the Grey Wardens in Minrathous, and we have come to your Chapter house with demands, without knowing our names or our reasons." The one who identified himself as Mathius Cicero took two steps forward from the group of Tevinter Grey Wardens, his hands up at chest level with his palms forward to show that he was moving forward with peaceful intentions. "I'm afraid it is we that have err'ed… Warden-Commander."

"If we can all agree to act civilly, then perhaps we can agree to a more amicable solution that doesn't have to end with swords and magic." Lyna replied, and then signified by nodding her head towards the man in the Magistar's robes. "If you could please tell your… Enchanter… to quit with the annoying racket? Mind control isn't going to work on any of us. Especially if I ask Fen'Harel to geld him." There was an uncomfortable cough from the Tevinter Grey Wardens as Warden-Lieutenant Mathius Cicero turned to look at the man in the Magister's robes, the mage pale as he looked at the mabari war hound, Fen'Harel staring right back. The cold feeling in her gut faded, indicating that the obvious blood mage had stopped trying to exert his mind control influence. "Thank you. Now we can return to your original request."

"The girl." Cicero replied, crossing his steel bracers across his steel breastplate. Lyna noted that while the Warden-Lieutenant had stopped things from escalating to a fight, she didn't doubt that he was simply trying to use a different tactic to complete their mission. "You have her."

"I doubt lying will convince you otherwise, since you were able to locate her here… probably from the use of a phylactery." The Warden-Commander answered without giving a real answer. "Still, it's not my policy just to hand people over without any explanation. I doubt it's yours."

"Fair enough." Cicero allotted begrudgingly, with a small nod of his head. "I guess we can be civil about this. We're all Wardens here, after all. We don't fight our own." To that, Lyna stayed silent; did the man think her ignorant to her knowledge that the unknown woman was, in fact, a Warden herself? "The woman is wanted by our Order for crimes against the Grey. We were tasked with bringing her in so she may stand trail for her crimes and be appropriately punished. If it's all the same to you, Warden-Commander, we have been traveling for some time, and we would like to return home before Molioris." It took the Dalish Elf to recognize the Tevinter name for the month of Bloomingtide, the month following Cloudreach.

"Since the last honest word you said to me was 'civil', my answer still stands as 'no'." Lyna quipped with a smile, crossing her arms across her own breastplate, feeling just a little smug about it. "From what we've learned from her, the story is quite different."

"She's awake?" Cicero looked surprised, and for the briefest of moments, the Blightender saw the flash of fear in the man's eyes. Lyna didn't bother correcting the man's assumption of the woman's condition, but whatever had the man worried, Lyna was most interested in. "Whatever she has spoken of is the affair of the Tevinter Chapter of the Grey Wardens, and not subject to prevue of any other. Likewise, the information that she contains is also sensitive to the Imperium, and any words that she may have spoke is to be considered suspect."

"Oh? So she's not a criminal against the Grey?" Lyna smirked, seeing the Warden-Lieutenant Cicero scowling, his face growing darker. "I knew you were lying to me then, but I actually think that you're telling the truth now. Since she has yet to say a word to us, we hadn't realized that the woman was of any importance at all. Thank you for informing me that we now hold a person of interest with access to Imperium state secrets. My answer is unchanged; we'll be keeping her. Feel free to turn around and head back north, _Consors_," Lyna used the Tevinter word for 'brother' towards the visiting Grey Wardens, "for we wouldn't want to keep you from returning to Minrathrous before Bloomingtide."

"And how long do you think you can protect her, Blightender?" Cicero asked, an evil smile upon his face. "You try moving her, and we'll know exactly where she is. We'll hunt her to the end of her days, as we are not the only ones who possess a phylactery of hers, nor are we the only ones in the Arl of Amaranthine looking for her. What will your people suffer with Tevinter Magisters in your lands? All it will take for us is to find one of your nobles who will be sympathetic to our cause to make your life quite difficult. As you are a _persona non gratis_ even in your own country, _Elf_, it shouldn't be hard to locate someone who would be happy to see you dead." The Warden-Lieutenant told the Warden-Commander, without a hint of malice in his voice.

"Is one woman worth risking the ire of our Chapter? Of the friends we have? Of the people that we can 'persuade' to work with us? How would you like to know that ships carrying slavers in secret will come to Amaranthine to kidnap your people? How would you like Magisters and blood mages running through your lands, converting people and turning them into abominations? Or having us turning normal people into bandits and brigands to accost your farmers and merchants, to assault your patrols until it feels like a siege. And we won't have to raise a finger to fight you at all. Is that worth one woman's life?"

Warden-Commander Lyna Mahariel stared at the man, surprised by all that Warden-Lieutenant Mathius Cicero had said, at all that he implied. She didn't trust him or the things that he said, but it was possible that they could make such things happen. Were the Tevinter Wardens alone? Were their other phylacteries of the woman in existence? Would they go to such lengths just to take back a woman? Would she go to such lengths to keep her?

"You know, Cicero? You almost had me there for a moment." The Commander of the Grey told the foreign Warden with a smile as she put her hands on her hips, and stood in a posture of superiority. "But you played yourself too hard, and showed yourself too desperate. If there had been others, they would be here now, and you wouldn't have been so insistent. I kill you now, and make _several_ phylacteries for her, and have them stashed on every merchant train from here to Val Royeaux, and have your hunters searching to the end of _their_ days. Then I'll hire a ship to take her to the Qunari lands of Par Vollen, in which I am well-acquainted with one of the leaders of the Antaam, and give him a letter detailing her importance. I am sure that he'll listen and make sure that she is well-looked after as she sells you out for every kernel of truth just to hurt you. Who knows, perhaps she knows something of importance enough to the Qunari that might make them think that an attack on Imperium lands would be warranted. I doubt you'll have enough men to spare sending them down here to the other side of the world when you've got the Antaam and Sarrebas sending an invasion fleet onto your shores. Perhaps when you're in an internment camp with a Ben-Hassrath explaining how your role is shoveling pig shit for the rest of your days, perhaps you'll remember this moment and think of me."

"You think this is finished? You think that we are done?" Cicero screamed, his visage turning violent as spittle flew from his mouth in rage. "Know this, elf! We shall…"

"Shale?"

The Tevinters never stood a chance.

With Lyna Mahariel calling her name, the living golem that was once a female Dwarf took three quick strides and smashed at the closest person to her, who was situated in the back of the group of Grey Wardens. The person in question was the man in the Magister robes, the blood mage standing behind the knot of warriors in a position of protection from any threat in front of them. As the Warden-Commander predicted, none of the Tevinters had suspected anything of the eight-foot tall stone statue that had stood there silently and without moving until Lyna had called her name. Shale moved forward three strides and drove her rocky fist into the crown of the Magister with all her strength, completely crushing the mage's head, killing him instantly.

In the same moment that the stone golem attacked, the rest of the Ferelden Grey Wardens did the same.

The raging form of Warden-Captain Oghren of House Kondrat was immediately in the thick of things, his battle-ax sweeping in at the same time Shale's stony fist introduced itself into the Magister's skull. It didn't matter that the man whom the Warrior Caste Dwarf was attacking was a good deal taller than he was; almost everything was. He put his disadvantage into use, and turned it into a strength, letting the pole of his ax strike the man in his knees, crumpling him onto the floor of the Hall as his return swing put the edge of his axe straight into the man's chest, cleaving through his armor and burying itself into the Tevinter's ribcage as the ginger-haired Dwarf called out a battle howl as his axe spilt his opponent's blood.

The same time that Oghren had charged forward, Warden-Captain Kallian Tabris did the same, her dueling knives in her hands as the former city elf of the Denerim Alienage leapt forward, taking two steps towards her target, who was trying to raise his shield. The city elf surprised him by bounding over him before he could pull his sword, planting a hand on the rim of his shield and rolling over the top of him, driving one of her knives into his back where his armor didn't cover to provide comfort for sitting. The blade went into the man's kidney as Kallian flipped over the man's shoulder and landed on her feet, pivoting as the man felt. The city elf then grabbed his helm and tilting it back to expose his neck to drag the point of her other blade across his neck savagely, spilling out his blood and his life.

Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe never moved towards the Tevinters, instead opting for his family's heirloom; his ancestral bow. Nathaniel ripped an arrow out of his quiver and shot at his man, placing the broad head point into the left side of his neck, where Howe knew blood ran towards the head. As soon as the arrow had left his fingers, he had pulled another, pulling back and firing in the same rapid motion as he did the first shot, putting the sister arrow in the right side of the man's neck, where the blood pumped away. The man in question never stood a chance to defend himself as his sword hand went towards the arrows to uselessly grab them.

First-Magician Velanna of the Halla Clan simply raised her staff and focused upon the feelings of Fade Magicka that flowed through her, opening herself to its power, and shot out a bolt of lighting at her target, blasting the man backwards several feet, electricity arcing through the metal plates of the armor that he wore. She did nothing else to the man, the waifing smoke coming from his body a clear indication that the man had caught a severe case of death-by-magic.

Warden-Commander Lyna Mahariel pulled out both her swords at the same time, the Keening Blade and Starfang in each had as the Dalish Elf bounded forward to the two men she would face; the scarred man named Gregior and Warden-Lieutenant Mathius Cicero. Both had brought their shields up as the Commander of the Grey ran forward, their hands going to their swords, when the Dalish Elf surprised them by kicking Cicero below the belt first, causing the man to cry out in pain, and striking at the scarred man with both of her enchanted blades. Gregior was able to parry the star-metal blade known as Starfang with his shield, the sword deflecting off his shield, but it wasn't able to stop the Keening Blade as Lyna followed up with a stab towards the man's head, aiming for just above the rim of his shield. The tip of the enchanted sword, won off the corpse of a demon known as Gaxkang, inserted itself into the skull of Gregior, the Keening Blade easily parting flesh and bone. As the Keening Blade stuck halfway deep into the scarred man's head, the sword known as Starfang went back for Warden-Lieutenant Mathius Cicero. Lyna struck him on the side of the head with the butt of Starfang's hilt as the man struggled to return from the low blow that the Warden-Commander struck him with, the pommel hitting him in the temple hard, knocking him unconscious.

The whole battle took a total of five seconds.

Lyna Mahariel stood in front of the circle of dead bodes (and one unconscious man) her eyes inspecting each to ascertain if they were truly and utterly dead. She watched Kallian double-checking her own man by slipping on of her daggers' behind the man's ear, shoving it into his brain just in case a slit throat wasn't enough. Shale, too, double-check, instead going to the one Velanna fried, stomping on his head.

"We're good, Commander." Nathaniel Howe called out, the fletching of an arrow by his right ear as he held his bow taunt, his archers' eyes looking for any betrayal of life. "The only one still breathing is the chatty one."

"Good. Let's relieve him of his possessions and tie him up. Then we'll have two people we can question." Lyna replied, and though she smiled, it never reached her eyes.

A/N: I tried keeping the skills canon; below the belt is a rogue move, but a pummel strike is not. Kallian Tabris's maneuver was more akin to the backstab from DA II. Shale smash. Enough said.


	5. Chapter 5

BioWare owns this… blah, blah… characters are theirs… blah, blah, legalese… ideas' mine… blah, no profit, snore… rights and property of said game aren't mine… drifting… OC's and plot belong to me… BSOD

Dragon Age: The Blood Within

Chapter 5: The Constable, Part II

9:38 Dragon, Vigil's Keep, month of Cloudreach 14, afternoon

Warden-Consort Nathaniel Howe stood at the entrance of the dungeon cell that Vigil's Keep employed. It wasn't the cell that he had once graced years ago when he had broke into his family's ancestral home in the hopes of being able to acquire a few of his family's heirlooms before fighting off no less than six Wardens and knocking out four of them. It had been none other than his father's killer who had come to his cell with an offer to join the Grey Wardens, the very organization that was responsible for his father's death. Nathaniel had accepted only for the opportunity to kill the Warden-Commander whose hand ended his father's life. Then the eldest son of Rendon Howe began to learn the truth of his father's crimes, and found that the woman whom had killed him was actually a woman worth knowing and serving. The sight of a dungeon cell had him strangely nostalgic as he looked at the lone occupant, seeing none other than Lyna Mahariel approaching where he stood.

"Is he awake? Has he said a word?" The Dalish Elf asked as she walked down the corridor, flanked by Guard-Sergeant Marian Mavaries and Warden-Captain Kallian Tabris, all three women dressed in their armor and carrying their respective weapons. None of them looked to be in a mood, which was fine for Nate; he wasn't in much of one, himself.

"He's awake, and he isn't talking." Nathaniel Howe replied, his eyes returning to their prisoner, Mathius Cicero, who stood against a stone pillar, his hands clamped in irons behind him, secured around the stone pillar and connected to a ring of iron that was attached to the pillar. The man, to his credit, hadn't said a word or given off a whimper as he stood with his back against the pillar that was connected to the cell from floor to ceiling, dressed only in a short loincloth to afford him the barest of decency. The Tevinter Grey Warden had been staring right at Nathaniel, and though Howe wasn't into playing games, he kept a sharp eye on the man behind the iron bar gate.

"Pity. He was in a talkative mood, before." The Warden-Commander stated as the three women reached the cell, coming into view of the prisoner. Nate could see the man's eyes locked onto Lyna Mahariel, not bothering to register either Kallian Tabris or Marian Mavaries. Lyna stood in front of the bars, peering through to look at the man inside, cuffed with his arms behind his back around the stone pillar. The man said nothing of his plight, nor indicated that he was the least bit interested in doing anything more than be in the middle of a staring contest. Nathaniel doubted the man would easily crack, and he knew that Lyna wasn't one to torture people; as hard as she could be at times, the Commander of the Grey understood the difference between necessarily hard and necessarily evil and made great pangs to avoid crossing that line. The Constable know that starving a man and keeping him awake for days would have the toughest crack, but Nate knew Lyna would never do such a thing.

That didn't mean she couldn't make him crack by other means.

"I feel that, as our guest, I should inform you of my intentions, Warden-Lieutenant Mathius Cicero." The Warden-Commander of Ferelden spoke, her tone even and conversational. "I would like for you to speak the truth to me, but that is of your choice, and I shall not force you. It is my intent that you will not be in my prison for long, _Consour_, and that you will leave through the front gate on your feet.

"But it won't be as a free man."

Nathainel Howe watched as Lyna Mahariel smiled at the man, a sad, cruel smile that had the Warden-Constable wondering what the Dalish woman had in mind. She hadn't told him anything of her plans in dealing with the prisoner, and he wondered where this might be leading.

"I know that you threatened myself, my Wardens, my guards, and my Keep, and these are things that I will not allow to stand." The Warden-Commander continued in her even tone. "As I see my people as my Clansmen, I feel duty-bound to protect them from all threats to the best of my abilities. You also threatened the people of my Arling with slavery, blood magic, abominations, and general strife and discord. Again, this is something I will not stand for. While I don't believe that there are other Minrathrous Warden _Consours_ out in my Arling, and I have sufficient proof of such, I am sure that your Chapter will be less than pleased that I killed six of your men and captured you.

"So how to prevent future attacks upon my people?"

Nathaniel looked to the Warden in the cell, who seemed not to be reacting at all to what the Blightender was telling him. It was obvious he knew nothing of the Dalish woman; if it had been Nate in that cell, he'd be singing like a canary and quaking in his boots. Lyna may have gotten to be Arlessa of Amaranthine by killing an archdemon, but she kept the job by trying to be smarter and more creative than the other person. He still remembered when Warden-Sergeant Frederick Jamesson had been held in this very same cell for attempted rape of a Warden, attempted rape of a Vigil staff member, raping of a staff member, and attempted murder of a Senior Member of the Order of the Grey. Nate had known Lyna Mahariel for a long time, but the night he had watched her visit the condemned had been a whole other woman. The sentence she had passed had, strangely enough, been a Dalish one; the sound of it had Nate's blood gone cold. Yet when Lyna had announced it to Frederick Jamesson, it had wiped the smirk off his face quicker than a shot arrow, completely crushing his hopes for a quick beheading. The sentencing was announced to everyone, and it remained the last time since the Battle of Amaranthine that every Grey Warden in Ferelden was in Vigil's Keep; the outposts had been emptied, and the patrols stopped. Frederick Jamesson had been broken by Lyna's sentencing before it had even been taken in effect, destroyed by the thought that every Warden would have a hand in his sentence, that every one of them would be a witness to it. With mere words, Lyna Mahariel had taken the defiance and the stubbornness out of a man whom they had stood side-by-side with against Darkspawn and bandit, without fear. Nathaniel had watched the Warden-Commander rip the heart out of the condemned's life before she had it physically taken. Nate still remembered the words of the sentencing, feeling like his own heart had been ripped out.

To be flogged by the hand of every member of the Order of the Grey until expired.

Nate remembered that day well, ninety-seven Ferelden Wardens standing in the Grotto of the Keep, where a pole had been erected for the prisoner. Every Warden stood there in full patrol armor, watching on as the Warden-Constable read off every individual charge leveled upon Warden-Sergeant Frederick Jamesson, omitting nothing but the names of his victims. Lyna had been standing beside him, mute and implacable as Nathaniel read the charges, and the punishment. It had been she to give the first lash against the naked back of the condemned, the first to draw blood. She then took her post in front of the man, to watch him as Nathaniel gave the second last, then Oghren the third, Kallian the forth, Velanna the fifth, and so on and so forth until all ninety-seven Wardens had had their turn. The Warden-Commander then inspected the prisoner, lifting his head upward to look into his eyes, and have Velanna inspect him for signs of life. Deeming that Frederick Jamesson was indeed still alive, Lyna took the lash again, and renewed the process, indicating to all that it would be continued until the man was dead from flogging, and that not making a serious attempt would only make the prisoner suffer. Once that was realized, Nathaniel was sure that every Warden's turn had them striking out as hard as they could, not in vengeance, but for mercy, to end the man's suffering. Yet not one word had been spoken against Lyna's punishment, not even between Wardens. It had been one of them that had committed the crime, a man they expect to protect their backs against the Darkspawn. It was a lesson to them all; betray not the members of the Order, and that even Wardens were susceptible to the law.

Nathaniel thought it interesting that later that night, when it was said and done and Lyna spent the night in her tree, that First-Magician Velanna sought him out. The Keeper of Vigil's Keep came to him with two drinks in her hand, surprising him, for the Dalish First of the Halla Clan never could get over her bigoted ways against the _shemlen_. Admittedly, she had improved a good deal, and she always put her Warden brothers and sisters, in her mind, as her clan, and Velanna would do anything for them. So when she gave him a cup of his favorite wine, the Keeper of Vigil's Keep told him a story; a story of a Dalish Elf from another that she had once heard about from the previous gathering of the Clans. She had told him how the Hunter had raped another Dalish Elf, and that the Keeper of that Clan had ordered what was known as the _Suledin_, or 'endurance'. Every member of the Clan had whipped the offending Hunter until he died, to remind him how he had failed in his duty to protect the members of his Clan.

"_What I find strange, was that it was during the last Gathering of the Clans that I attended that I heard that story." Velanna said, looking at the _Vhenadahl_ from a distance from Nathaniel's spot on the ramparts of the Vigil. "This must have been… 9:25 Dragon on the shemlen calendar." Nate merely grunted at that; Velanna called all humans 'shemlen', though it had lost its venom long ago. "She wouldn't have been old enough to attend that part of a gathering; _da'lin's _or _da'mi's_ are kept with the _Hahrens _for regular stories, while we are trading knowledge and such. This story was passed only between Keepers and Firsts, and no other. There is no way her First or her Keeper would have told a huntress this tale. Not unless…"_

"_Unless it was indeed the Sabare Clan that the infraction happened." Nathaniel completed the sentence, taking a sip of the golden port wine that came from the Free Marches; he had acquired its taste back when he was a squire in Starkhaven. "An interesting punishment, if a bit barbaric in my mind; having every member of a clan 'kill' the offender in their mind, to take away any remorse they may have. Sets a rather interesting precedence, does it not?"_

"_I… begged her not to do it." Velanna admitted sadly, causing the Constable to look at her. "Why not a quick beheading? Aren't the shem all for that? No, she picks a Dalish punishment for the man."_

"_We… we didn't name the victims. We didn't tell the truth." Nathaniel finally confessed, looking off the ramparts and into the Amaranthine night. "He didn't rape a servant; he raped Kallian Tabris and was about to slit her throat when Lyna came in from her tree, just wanting to ask our little thief a question. Mahariel went ballistic; you know she sees Tabris like a sister. I can only imagine that every Dalish child is told at the knee the stories of us shemlen and the faults we cause. Not that they're all lies, mind you…" That had Velanna snort, but she didn't argue or interrupt him, showing how much the First of the Halla Clan had changed. "A shemlen raping an elf? A fate that Kallian almost suffered once, and under Lyna's watch. I guess we shouldn't be so surprised that she took it a little too personally."_

"_If there's one thing you can always assume about a Dalish," Velanna spoke slowly, looking to the Constable, "is the vengeance they will bring if you hurt one of their Clan. I'm sure you remember well what _I_ was doing." To that, Nate stayed silent, indeed remembering the First who was attacking Human merchants on the Pilgrims' Path. "And I don't think I have to warn you that while my _vassalin_ is of _Dirthamin_, the Keeper of Secrets, Lyna's is of _Elgar'nan_, the God of Vengeance. Most Hunters pick _Anduril_, the Goddess of the Hunt, but our Commander picked vengeance when she was fifteen, a year before somehow becoming Tainted and saved by the Grey Wardens. I've… never asked. And she's never offered."_

"_Same here, and I don't think she would confide in Oghren, whom she's known the longest." Nathaniel imputed, thinking how the Dwarf had followed the Dalish Elf during the Blight. "The only one I would venture to guess _might_ know would be… well…"_

"_They haven't been close for years." Velanna didn't need to confirm whom Nate was talking about, and neither felt to expand on it. "I can face a broodmother without hesitation, but I must admit that I am leery of asking her that question, and she sees me as her Keeper and her friend."_

"_I know exactly what you mean." Nate confided as well, looking towards the _Vhenadahl_, where the Dalish Elf was. _

The Warden-Constable looked at Warden-Commander Lyna Mahariel, and then to Kallian Tabris, who shuffled a little glance towards Nate, giving the slightest of shrugs to him, as if to say _I don't know, either_. He thought of the last occupant and what happened to him, and Nathaniel wondered what would be Mathius Cicero's fate would be. Would he be whipped by every Warden like Frederick Jamesson? Or was there another fate like his that the Tevinter Warden would suffer? His compatriots were dead, what use was he alive if he was adamant against talking.

"Last chance, _Consour._" Lyna Mahariel offered with a smile, looking the man in the eye without any sort of joy in it. "Or perhaps you are more interested him what I have planned for you? I'll make you a deal, the only one you'll get. You talk, and I'll talk; I'll tell you where the girl is. By Fin'Harel, I'll even take you to her just to show you that I am a woman of my word. You won't get her, but at least you'll see that she is in my care, and that the months you tracked her, and the wounds that you gave her, weren't completely wasted. You don't talk, and I'll tell you your fate. If you change your mind before I finish, perhaps I'll find some mercy for you, but you'll never know what I know, the things that I'll find out, and what I intend to do about them. If I finish and you find yourself still unwilling to talk, you will at least have some comfort knowing that I've planned something special for you. Are you ready?"

The man glared at the Dalish woman, and Nathaniel wasn't surprised to see that he remained silent.

"Good." Lyna clapped her hands together, rubbing them as if she had won a bet. "I was hoping you wouldn't talk. You see, while you've been interred in here, I've been talking with the Ben-Hossrath of Amaranthine; you knew we had one of those here, right?" Lyna asked, not expecting an answer. Nathaniel looked at the man in the cell, and the glare he had softened slightly, his eyes widening slightly. "She was very interested to know that we had a Tevinter soldier this far south, and she seemed quite interested in knowing of your fate. I, of course, explained to Tallis of your particular situation, how me keeping you here would be… embarrassing. She was quite pleased to hear that I was interested in the thought of trading you over to her for some concessions that I'm thinking of leveraging with Par Vallon. Can you imagine how the Ben-Hossrath will be pleased with having a Tevinter soldier, and a Grey Warden to boot, in one of their education camps? I've heard that the resistant will be forced to breath the _qamek_, and they'll slowly forget everything they were once fighting for, giving everything away to keep a shred of themselves before being fully invested in the Qun…"

"STOP!"

Nathaniel Howe looked at the man in the cell, Mathius Cicero panting hard, covered in sweat as he looked at the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, his eyes wild and face in agony. The Warden-Constable had to hand it to Lyna; she found the one crack in the man's defense, the fear of being captured by the Qunari. There was, of course, no Ben-Hossrath in Amaranthine, but Cicero didn't know that. All the man knew was what would undoubtedly happen if he were taken to a Qunari reeducation camp. Would he gleefully find his role pleasing? Perhaps he would be shoveling pig shit, or fighting his own countrymen. Whatever his thoughts were, Lyna had used them to crack his resolve.

"You have something you want to say to me, Warden-Lieutenant Mathius Cicero?" The Warden-Commander asked, her voice serious as she looked him in the eyes, never wavering.

The man chained to the pillar looked up to the Warden with eyes defiant, summoning his courage. Nathaniel knew the man wasn't going submit, and the man confirmed Nate's thought by spitting towards the Blightender, his spittle hitting the bar, but the intent was the same.

"You win, _Consour._" Lyna Mahariel replied, moving back from the cell, nodding her head towards Nathaniel, Kallian, and Sergeant Marian Mavaries. "Sergeant Mavaries? Please arrange for transportation for our Warden-Lieutenant here. He's got an appointment with the Ben-Hossrath that I shan't want him to be late for." The female Guard of the Keep saluted hand to fist, and moved out of the barracks. "Kallian, please make sure that he has every comfort afforded to the city elves of the Denerim Alienage when the slavers decided to move in with their false plague." To that, the Warden-Captain of the Hunt smiled and walked off, leaving Nathaniel to wonder briefly just what the city elves of Denerim were given. If he had to guess, the answer was probably _not much_.

"Nathaniel?"

"Yes, Commander?" The Constable turned to his Commander, seeing her emerald green eyes peering into his brown ones.

"We still have one more person to interrogate. Let's just hope she's the talkative type."

A/N: The whole fate of Frederick Jamesson is to show that Lyna isn't all sugar and spice… and to make the threat of the Qunari _qamek_ that much more believable. Took me a while to think of ways to break a man, and indoctrination was definitely one of the better ones. Better than pincers, at least. And the Tallis that is mentioned is not the same Tallis of the 'Mark of the Assassin' DLC from DA II, or the movie DA: Redemption.


End file.
